I was all alone in the basement locker room of the old Field House. Finally solitude. I changed into indoor running gear. I would have the darkened track to myself. I emerged completely unclothed from the shower and there she was. Completely 100% nude, glistening. The Voat Fat People Hate Verified Shitlady!
“What in the f&%k are you doing in here? This is a f*&king men’s locker room, you idiot! Are you insane?”
She stood with her hands on her hips completely unashamed.
“Listen up, you fat, bloated Beetus-breath. You sickening Heffalump! 23 BMI! FAT FAT FATTY! You Laardvaark! O’Lord Beetus I beseech Thee! Strike you dead! DIE! DIE! DIE! Bloatened-fatty!”
I put my hand over her mouth.
“I am 85 days at BMI normal. While running is useless to lose weight, it can help you maintain weight. Are you going to run with me?”
She stepped back.
“Do you even know what sexual intercourse it? How it works? When a so-called ‘man’ like yourself, takes his massive sexual organ and penetrates a woman’s orifice, like mine with the object of pleasure or procreation. For millions of years, since Ramapithicuses descended from the shit-covered apes, it has been done and you shall do it to me, so I may wallow in the shame of giving myself to a hideous ugly, ugly, ugly ogre like yourself. DEFILE ME! FILL ME WITH THY BEETUS JUICE! I AM MADLY, PASSIONATELY IN LOVE WITH YOU! MARRY ME YOU DEATHFAT!”
[So dear readers, I f&%ked her. There, I said it. And when I was done, I put her over my knee and gave her a violent spanking. Needless to say, she verbally assaulted me with her Tourette’s-like psychotic vitriol throughout the entire process.]
We showered, again, and ascended the stairs to run on the darkened track. We decided to turn around every 8 laps as 220 x 8 = one god-fearing American mile. Not a shitty Bolshevik 200 meters. God hates the metric system. It was near impossible to keep count. The Map My Run app kept time, but could not accurately track distance indoors, but time was enough. Recovering from the Flu, I lost time every single lap. I wanted to run 7 miles, but I had to stop at 5. She kept up the insults for 57 solid minutes.
“True sh!tpeople don’t worry about maintaining weight. We have self-control, you vile Crisco-demon. I don’t know why I even associate with you. I am beautiful, you are hideous, I am young, you are old.”
Peace be the Botendaddy